


A Strong Man

by NaughtyBees



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Gay Panic, Graphic Descriptions of Heavy Metal, M/M, Original Character(s), Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2020-12-17 15:54:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21057023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyBees/pseuds/NaughtyBees
Summary: The Captain has a crush on a local construction worker who looks like a Viking. Unfortunately, being too gay to function becomes an issue for him.





	1. Arms

**Author's Note:**

> If you're unfamiliar with Ingmar, check out my work The Viking Ghost!

Fanny deemed it ‘unacceptable’ that construction work was done just over the road from the office, but she had to be reminded that she had been complaining about the state of the pipes for the best part of eight months. The others didn’t mind. Productivity didn’t change, despite the endless noise from the machines, and the smell of hot tar. Mary actually said she liked the smell, which surprised nobody.  
The Captain - as was his nickname from birth, one he wasn’t about to change - rather enjoyed the work. He often passed by the site on his way to get his usual sandwich, (cheese, a timeless classic) and didn’t mind the view. The men working there were all very strong, the dirt and sweat and bulging biceps made his cheeks flush every time he passed by. He never stopped, but it was difficult to stop himself staring at the men, his heart fast in his chest. 

It was no different on Thursday. Just a regular Thursday. The spending report was in, the paperwork had been done for the morning, and his cheese sandwich was calling his name. It was a blisteringly hot day, and he could feel the tarmac making the soles of his shoes tacky. He felt sorry for the workmen, hoping they had enough suncream and water. As he rounded the corner, he had to stop. Every single one of them was shirtless. He stood there, his eyes wide, sweat trickling down his back as he took in the sight. He wondered for a moment if he had died and gone to heaven, being treated to a view like this. It felt dirty, to watch them working so intently, every quiver of muscle and wipe of a brow making his throat tight. 

The Captain was so absorbed in his gay struggle, he didn’t notice the cry of ‘look out!’, or the roll of heavy pipes heading toward him, until he felt a hand ball the back of his suit and lift him clean off his feet. Yelping, he dangled a foot off the ground as the pipes landed where he was standing a second ago with a monumental clang.

“Guð minn góður! That was close!” A voice thundered, deep, with an Icelandic twang. 

The Captain looked at the man who had rescued him, and was still holding him aloft like a naughty puppy. The first thing he noticed was that although he was a foot off the ground, his eyes were still only level with his shoulders. His bare shoulders. His very muscular, tattooed shoulders.  
“Oh, I’m sorry.” The man chuckled, setting The Captain down gently. 

The first word that came to The Captain’s mind was the first one out of his lips, and he couldn’t stop it. “Big.” He squeaked, squinting against the glaring sun as he looked up at the bearded man, seeing his raised eyebrow. “S-Sorry!” He averted his eyes, swallowing thickly and clearing his throat. 

A deep, rumbling chuckle made his face flush slightly. “Don’t worry. You’re not wrong.” He smiled, folding massive, tattooed arms over his massive chest, his skin shining with sweat yet mottled with dirt and dust. He smelled of pine sap. “Seven foot seven, before you ask. Should have it on a shirt.”

The Captain opened his mouth, closed it again and cleared his throat. “Yes, well… Thank you for saving me from being flattened.” His voice cracked slightly and he looked away, clenching his fists. “Hm. Goodbye.” He turned on his heel and began to walk as fast as he dare without running, his heart in his throat. He could still feel the large hand at his back, the smell of hard work still hot in his nostrils. His shirt was soaked with back sweat as he felt the cool of air conditioning on his face, his finger shakily jabbing the lift call button.  
The thought of his cheese sandwich lingered, but his stomach clenched slightly and he frowned. There was no way he’d be able to eat after that.

Pat noticed his early return and looked over at him as he sat at his desk, head in his hands. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, and when the coast seemed to be clear, he wheeled his chair over to sit beside The Captain, a gentle hand on his shoulder startling him slightly.  
“You okay, mate? You don’t usually come back until the end of lunch.” Pat asked, keeping his voice low so as not to alert anyone. “You wanna talk about it?”

The Captain swallowed hard. He trusted Pat. Nothing that was ever said to him was repeated, or met with judgement. Truly, he was a pure soul.  
“Something happened.” He began, the hand on his back calming him a little. “You know the workmen across the road?”

Pat frowned. He expected the worst, perhaps some slurs, or even a physical attack. Whatever it was, he would help see his friend through it.

Taking a deep breath, The Captain swallowed hard. “One of them saved me from an accident and… Good lord, Patrick, you’ve never seen a man like this.” He whispered, hands still shaking. “He was colossal. But so gentle… I should have stayed to talk to him. I don’t even know his name.”

With a look of realisation, Pat nodded, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Well, perhaps you should take a few minutes to compose yourself, then go back. It’s a hot day, maybe you could take him a drink?” He suggested softly. “You need to eat, skipping lunch isn’t healthy.”

Clenching his fists, The Captain fumbled with his water bottle, taking a sip, not realising how dry and sticky his mouth was. "I think you're right…"

Pat smiled gently. "I do understand what you're going through." He whispered. "Being pansexual myself, it took me a while to get to grips with it. I'm always here if you need me."

The Captain hadn't thought too hard about his sexuality before then. He knew he wasn't interested in women, but he wouldn't call himself gay. Perhaps he should have done. It would make things easier for him. Even if he knew he needed to work out a little of his internalised homophobia. He had his father to thank for that.  
"Thank you, Patrick." His smile was genuine and he gave Pat a curt nod before standing and sauntering over to the lift. 

oOo

The bottle of water was cold in his hand, droplets of condensation trickling down his wrist. It was enough to ground him as he walked as slowly as he could toward the builders. He was easy to spot. The way he carried three cement bags on one shoulder as though they didn't weigh nearly 100lbs each made The Captain's knees feel weak. His cheese sandwich was heavy in his stomach as he waved, the ginger head turning to look in his direction. A smile. Oh lord.  
As the man approached, The Captain steeled himself, determined to not make a fool of himself. 

"I apologise for running off earlier. I was a little startled, is all." The Captain began, pausing when the large man waved a dismissive hand. 

"Don't worry." He assured him. "Happens. People find me intimidating."

The Captain took a shaky breath. "Can't think why." He tried to keep his voice level as he held out the bottle. "I brought you this, by way of a thank you."

With a smile, the man took the bottle. "Oh! Great, just what I need." As much as The Captain didn't want to stare, he was transfixed as the bottle was lifted to the man's lips, watching his Adam's apple bob as he drank deeply. He drained almost half of the bottle before he stopped drinking and lifted it to his neck, pouring ice water over his sweaty skin, each rivulet dripping down his chest making The Captain thank god for creating water, if only for the fact that it was used for keeping this man cool. 

"Thank you very much. It's appreciated!" The man raised the bottle as though giving a toast before turning to return to his work. The tattoo across his defined back was so intricate, a wolf fighting a snake, and looked Norse-inspired. 

The Captain couldn't help but liken him to a Viking, which he rather thought was the intention. 

"How was it?" Pat asked as The Captain sat at his desk, worrying his pencil between his teeth. 

The Captain looked up, eyes creased slightly as his body twitched with the comedown of adrenaline. He sighed with contentment as he thought about his Viking man.  
"Exquisite." Was all he said as he turned toward a pile of paperwork that he was sure he wouldn't even start. 

oOo

After-work drinks were the furthest thing from The Captain's mind as he packed up his desk. He'd skipped out on Friday drinks for months, and he'd been pressured into coming this time, Pat assuring him it would be fine.  
He was too warm, too sore, the thought of a hot bath and a cup of tea making him hate everything about the little bar as Pat held open the door for him. He hated the music so faint he could only hear an annoying, repetitive twang. He hated how the floor had only just enough traction to make him fear slipping. He hated the stupid chairs that squeaked when you pulled them. 

His coworkers clearly didn't share his hate for the place, as each held their own drinks, chatting and laughing amongst one another. Julian was trying to explain to Mary about some weird sex position. Kitty was chortling with glee as she told jokes to a very unreceptive Fanny. Robin was… 

The Captain's throat tightened. He stopped breathing entirely. How had he not noticed? He was seven foot seven, for Christ's sake. Perhaps because he was partly obscured by Julian's weird sex mime. But there he was, sat at the table, a half drunk pint in one hand. The Captain felt a creeping nausea in his belly as he watched Robin, straddling the equally hairy man, feeding him crisps. His Viking was happily crunching them down as they talked, taking the occasional gulp of beer, grinning at Robin.  
That wasn't fair. That smile should've been for him. 

"You alright, mate?" Pat asked The Captain softly, looking up at him. 

The Captain cleared his throat and nodded, looking down at Pat. "Yes. Ah… who is that man with Robin?" He asked, trying not to betray the seething jealousy clenched around his heart. 

Pat looked over to Robin and smiled a little. "Oh, that's just Ingmar. He and Robin are close so he hangs out with us on Fridays."

Ingmar. A strong name for a strong man. The Captain mouthed it to get a feel for it, a slight flutter in his chest. 

Eye contact. Ice blue meeting steel blue. A grin of recognition and an eagerly beckoning hand. Good lord. 

As The Captain walked over, Ingmar sat up, Robin looking between them with a bit of confusion.  
"Fancy seeing you here!" That booming voice, the Icelandic twang, it made The Captain shiver slightly. 

"Yes, well, I don't come to many work outings. But I hear that you're a regular." He glanced around for a chair, seeing none, and wondered if that was why Robin was sat so close to Ingmar. He hoped so. 

Ingmar nodded. "Yeah, mutual friends. Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

Telling his name to the man he had spent all day thinking about shouldn't have felt intimate. But it did. It felt so grossly personal. A deep breath steadied him. "But everyone calls me Captain. Always have."

A large paw of a hand was extended toward him and The Captain swallowed thickly, grasping it. When his own hand was lost in its heft, he almost shuddered, the handshake gentle despite the vast size disparity.  
"Ingmar Skaldsson! Thanks for the water, by the way. Very kind."

Robin piped up with a smile. "Told me what happen!" He chimed, pointing at Ingmar. "Captain nearly get squished! You good now?" 

The Captain nodded, pursing his lips and trying not to look at how Robin straddled Ingmar. "I am, yes. Not a pancake, thankfully."

Ingmar lifted his drink to toast the sentiment, then drained his half pint in two gulps, an action that should not have been as erotic as it was. The Captain cleared his throat and looked away, trying not to listen to the crunch of Ingmar being fed more crisps. 

"When is it then?" Robin asked Ingmar, and The Captain realised he'd interrupted their conversation with his arrival. 

Ingmar swallowed his mouthful, blinking against his intoxication. "Sunday. Hoping for a good turnout since we are supporting quite a popular band."  
The Captain looked at the pair with interest, inclining his head. Ingmar was in a band? That sounded incredible.  
"Nobody will be there for us, but we might sell a few CDs."

Robin nodded. "Can't go. Busy. But I see if next time!" 

Ingmar nodded, a little disappointed, his pale eyes shifting to The Captain's interested gaze. "Don't suppose you'd like to come?" 

The invitation shocked him, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before clearing his throat. "Yes, well, I don't have anything to do on Sunday. What are your band called?" 

"Heathen Steel." Ingmar beamed. "It's Viking metal. You don't look like you listen to metal."

The heaviest song The Captain had ever heard was Bohemian Rhapsody, so he wasn't quite sure what to expect. "Oh, I like all music." He waved a hand.

Robin sniggered. "That what they all say. Not true."

The Captain rolled his eyes. He could handle a little music. How bad could it be? 

oOo

Ah. 

The line to get in was orderly, yet the people were absolutely not the sort that The Captain would wish to socialise with. Long hair, leather and spikes, piercings and tattoos, shirts with twisted titles and disemboweled corpses as their artwork. They looked at him with surprise, he with his smart shoes, crisp shirt and tie…and cable knit vest. He was not dressed for the occasion. 

"You sure you're in the right place?" A woman with violet hair asked as he passed her his ticket. "The bands are a bit rough tonight."

The Captain lifted his chin and nodded, pursing his lips. "I know one of the singers." Was all he said in explanation, allowing her to draw a crude doodle of a Viking helmet on the back of his hand so he could enter. 

The place wasn't all too crowded, and The Captain walked past the merchandise tables as he went to get a drink, his eyes catching on the few shirts and CDs for Ingmar's band. He hummed, thinking as he ordered a pint, not usually one to drink but allowing himself a treat. 

"Alright, mate?" A dark skinned bearded man asked as he paused by the merchandise table. "You a fan of Heathen Steel?" 

The Captain shook his head a little. "No, to be honest, I haven't heard any metal before. You know Ingmar? He invited me, and I was in need of a night out."

The man smiled. "Ah, you're the bloke he was talking about yesterday!" 

He talked about him? The thought made The Captain's heart leap, and he took a deep breath, clearing his throat. "Wh-What did he say?" 

"Just told us he saved you from being crushed. And that he was glad you were comin' along."

The tips of The Captain's ears went pink and he tried to hide his blush behind his drink. "Ah. Well, yes." He coughed to drown out his thoughts and turned his eyes to the merchandise. "May I have a CD?" He asked, trying to choose between the covers of two albums. One held the visage of a lightning-bound figure eviscerating a colossal serpent, and was titled 'Jörmungandr's Wrath'; the other was splattered with blood, a surprised looking head being cleft from the shoulders of a man by the shining axe of a Viking warrior, the words 'Beheader of The Celts' styled to look like dripping blood. The Captain chose the first one and pocketed it, thanking the man behind the table before moving his way to the front of the stage. 

It wasn't long before a familiar frame lumbered through the crowd with the gait of too much beer. The Captain cleared his throat, swallowing as he watched the band set up. Ingmar was wearing a sleeveless band shirt, his hair loose around his shoulders. A lot more relaxed than his work attire - or lack of, as per their first conversation. 

"Hey! We're Heathen Steel." Ingmar boomed into the microphone as his band set up behind him. "Hope you bastards are gonna tear this place apart tonight." A couple of cheers came from the crowd. "Good. Too many dickheads just stand at the back nodding until the headliner comes on." This prompted a chuckle amongst the room. Those intense blue eyes lingered on The Captain and a wink made him flush crimson, a sip of his beer taking his attention away from his bashfulness. 

The time-keeping tap of drumsticks drew his attention. Four beats. Explosion. The sudden blast of music that thrummed from the speakers made The Captain feel like he was having an aneurysm. The thunderous rhythm, immediate guitar hook with violently brilliant drumming, crisply in time, so fast and loud that his very ribs felt as though they might turn to dust. The cacophony hurt, and most of him couldn't stand it, much preferring crooners. Yet there lingered some part of him, a secreted tribal part, that longed to be free to dance without fear of ridicule.  
Then came the vocals. Never in his life had The Captain thought that singing would arouse him, yet the growl that came from Ingmar, deep and bassy, like the thunderous roar of a furious tiger. He gasped, his hair standing on end as Ingmar kept up that roar, his voice filling every corner of the room as Icelandic rolled off his tongue. It was cathartic, it was angry, it made The Captain wonder how he had lived all this time without hearing something that made every nerve on his skin come to a flame. 

An elbow at his back made him yelp, his drink sloshing as he looked back with alarm. Four people dressed in appropriate metal attire were leaping at one another to the music, and if The Captain wasn't afraid of injury, or indeed embarrassment, he might have thought about joining them. However, he backed away from the drunken foursome, watching them immediately scoop up someone who fell, as though it were automatic. 

Ingmar finished a verse, the guitar taking lead, and he steadied himself on the comparatively puny microphone stand, his head spinning in a huge arc. Flecks of sweat shone in the stage lighting as his hair created a tornado of ginger. The other band members, and some of the audience, spun their heads in such a fashion. The Captain could just imagine Robin enjoying leaping about to such a tribal beat. 

The spectacle lasted no longer than 30 minutes, halfway through Ingmar had taken off his shirt and balled it up, using it to mop sweat as he took a water break after the fourth song. Yet, all good things had to end, and The Captain was sad to see Ingmar place the microphone back on the stand, level with his ribs. 

As he stepped off the stage and walked to the merchandise table, The Captain very slowly followed, keeping his distance as a few people trotted after him to buy CDs and get them signed.  
Soon enough, however, Ingmar saw him and smiled, sitting down and exhaling. 

"This is where I get my CD signed, isn't it?" The Captain asked with a small smirk. 

"What did you think?" Ingmar asked, shouting over the chatter and the filler-music. "Not your scene, is it?"

The Captain shrugged slightly, casting a glance around the room. "Not particularly. However, I did enjoy your performance. How on earth do you make those noises with your mouth?" He asked, a little baffled still. 

Ingmar let free a breathy laugh. "It's all diaphragm work." His throat sounded parched and he reached out, pulling what remained of The Captain's drink from his hands and taking a deep gulp of it, handing the cup back to him. The Captain could barely think, such a simple action seeming so intimate yet so flippant, and the words being spoken to him didn't register as he stared at the lips still reflecting the sheen of his beer.  
"But still people think it's easy to do metal vocals."

The Captain blinked slightly, taking a breath. "I'm sorry you aren't appreciated enough. I hope you'll garner more attention after this though." 

With a shrug of his colossal shoulders, Ingmar stood up and looked to where the next band was setting up, picking up his jacket and holding it. "Me too." 

"Oi, Ingmar!" The bass player called, waving. "You coming or have you found your lay for tonight?!" 

"Æ haltu kjafti, kúkalabbi." Ingmar chuckled with a well placed single fingered gesture, then looked down toward The Captain. "How are you getting home?" He asked.

The Captain took a moment to respond, still processing whether or not what the bass player said was a friendly comment, or a homophobic joke. He settled on the former for the time being, swallowing a lump in his throat. "I was going to walk. It's not all too far."

Ingmar pulled on his shirt, something that both disappointed and relieved The Captain, then turned toward the door. "Can I walk you? It's very late, you shouldn't be out alone."

The Captain nodded, a little dazed as he let himself be herded from the building, his ears ringing as he stepped into the cool night. "What about you? You'll have to walk home alone once I'm home. Aren't you worried?"  
Ingmar squared his shoulders at his full height and looked down at The Captain, the shadow he cast over him making fear prickle at the back of his neck. "Good christ, are you half giant or something?" He stammered, palms beginning to sweat. 

With a nonchalant shrug, Ingmar returned to a more friendly slouch, turning to walk down the empty street. "Nobody seems to think mugging me is worth it. I agree with them."

The Captain hummed, his smile betraying him as they strolled in a comfortable silence for a while.  
"So…" The Captain began, breaking the quiet. "Are you and Robin an item or are you just friends? Robin doesn't talk about his social life."

Ingmar chuckled quietly. "I think Robin is aroace. We're just friends. Besides, he's not really my type."

Oh, blessed saints, he had a chance! A slim chance, yes, but a chance all the same.  
"So, what is your type then?" The Captain asked, making a point not to look at Ingmar. 

"Hm." There was a moment when their footsteps were the only sound, fast clack of smart shoes and the slow lope of heavy boots. "For women, someone strong, dependable, capable, someone who really knows how to fix an engine." His steel toe cap sent a pebble skittering across the road. "For men, I like someone kind, someone who doesn't mind my habits. Someone who I can talk to all night." Ingmar looked down at The Captain, head tilted. "What about you? What's your type?" 

"Strong men." The Captain blurted out, his fingers twitching as he resisted the urge to slap a hand to his mouth. "And, ah… Yes…" 

"So, you're gay?" Ingmar asked as they turned a corner and crossed the road. "I think I'm not into strong men because I am one. I need a man who wants to be protected by a strong man."

The Captain wished he had the gall to ask for his number, to invite him inside even. Yet, he just cleared his throat as they continued on, his heart warm in his chest as he watched Ingmar lean down to stroke a cat that was on a night time stroll. They soon halted outside The Captain's house and he gestured toward the door. "This is me." He wet his lips and sighed as he attempted a flirtatious line of some sort. When none came to mind, he cleared his throat and gave Ingmar a curt smile. 

"Hang on." Ingmar fumbled in his pocket. "I never signed your CD."

"That's alright, there's no need to trouble yourself."

Ingmar shook his head and held out a huge paw of a hand, taking the CD and scribbling on the case. "You never know. Might be worth something." He handed it back and gave The Captain a clap on the back that nearly sent him face-first into his geraniums. "See you later." He said with a small wave, turning on his heel. 

"Goodbye." The Captain smiled after him, listening to his heavy footfalls with fascination. He watched the ginger head disappear around the corner, then let the tension from his shoulders, allowing himself to breathe as he unlocked his front door. The rush of the night gave him pause and he looked at the silver pen on the CD case. A gasp choked him and he choked on saliva as he kept his gaze on the writing. 

"Hope to see you at the next show! Here's my number if you can't wait that long. Ingmar :) " 

The Captain almost fainted.


	2. Lips

_Hello, this is The Captain, how are yo-_

No, too formal. 

_Hey, Cap here, sup? Wanna meet for a drin-_

Oh for goodness sake. How hard could a text be? 

_I've been playing your CD all day._

The Captain stared at his phone, the only light in the dark room as he laid on his side in bed. He'd left it a day, as he thought was custom, and tried his best to formulate a good first text. That one didn't sound right. The Captain was surprised his backspace button hadn't been worn out, the number of times he'd deleted the text. He went to backspace again, his thumb twitching. Oh shit. His phone clicked as the message sent, and he pressed the phone to his forehead and growled, wondering if he had managed to make a good impression with that. 

The Captain's phone buzzed after a moment, making him blink to attention, his blood feeling cold, stomach tight. 

_**Ingmar:** I'm glad! How has your day been? :) _

A smiley face? Oh, no, that was cute. How could such a huge, powerful man be cute? It made him smile to himself, his heart warm in his chest. 

_Not too bad, I suppose. What about you?_

The quick reply made The Captain wonder if Ingmar had his phone in his hands too. His big, big hands… a shiver down his spine made the hair on his arms stand to attention. 

_**Ingmar:** Good! I've been working on my next album. Can't find anything to rhyme with Blóðþyrst though haha._

Oh, to be able to speak Icelandic… he inhaled deeply as he wondered how to ask Ingmar on a date. Where would a colossal Viking want to go? He didn't have time to think as his phone buzzed again. 

_**Ingmar:** Wanna meet up tomorrow for a bite?_

It was that simple? Hm. The fact that he double texted made his cheeks flush a little. 

_That would be lovely. Where did you have in mind?_

_**Ingmar:** There's a buffet I like to go to sometimes. How about I come about 7 and we walk?_

The Captain bit his lip, typing out his reply as fast as he could while still making it legible, his hands a little shakey.

_That sounds wonderful. I'll see you then. Goodnight, Ingmar._

He plugged in his phone, one final buzz before he turned it off making him smile. 

_**Ingmar:** Can't wait. Sleep tight, Cap! :) _

The nickname didn't even bother him as he turned over to the cool side of his pillow, his face aching with the grin he sported. He had no idea how he was going to get to sleep with the amount of excitement in his veins. 

oOo

"I don't have a single smart thing to wear that isn't either a cable knit vest or something black tie."

Pat laughed down the phone and The Captain sighed softly.  
"I think a vest will do fine, mate. He won't mind what you wear, I'm sure!" 

Holding up two coat hangers, The Captain hummed. "Red or striped?" 

"Stripes are flattering." Pat suggested, and The Captain laid the vest on the bed. 

"Oh, Patrick, I'm scared out of my wits. What if something goes wrong?" 

"What could possibly go wrong?" Pat asked. 

A million things ran through The Captain's head, all of them lost on the way to his mouth, and he simply sighed. "I suppose we'll see, won't we? It's nearly seven and I still need a shower so I'll text you."

"Good luck!" Pat chimed down the phone, and The Captain hung up, plugging his phone in and moving toward the bathroom.   
Ingmar probably only liked him as a friend, and he was most likely misinterpreting his friendly manner. Still, it was a night out with one of the most attractive men he'd ever seen, and he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

The knock at the door was punctual, and The Captain spent a few seconds making sure he looked immaculate; not a crease in his shirt, not a hair out of place, shoes polished to a mirror-like sheen. Perfect. 

As he opened the door, he realised he didn't need to be so formal. Ingmar's leather jacket was full of holes and spattered with dried paint, his jeans ripped and faded, boots caked in dry mud. The Captain almost forgot how large he was, but the fact that he was a foot taller than his front door made him swallow thickly. 

"Hey! Love the vest." Ingmar chimed, gesturing. 

"Thank you. Have you had a nice day?" The Captain closed the door behind him and locked it, falling into step beside Ingmar as they walked down the garden path. 

Ingmar shrugged. "Yeah, it was alright." His large hands shot out and slipped beneath The Captain's arms, lifting him with ease, making him yelp. "Sorry." He smiled, holding him as though he were no heavier than a puppy, rotating 180° and setting him down. The Captain was bewildered as Ingmar crouched, and watched him straighten up with a garden snail between his fingers. He scrunched his nose with a smile as he looked at it, then placed it gently on a nearby plant before continuing on. "How was your day?" 

The fact that not only was Ingmar strong enough to find lifting him easier than warning him of a snail, but also that he was so eager to save the snail in the first place, made a smile linger below his moustache. "To be quite honest, not all too good. Work was very stressful, I just wanted it to be over." The idle brush of a swinging knuckle against his elbow made him shiver, and the thought of having to bend his arm fully in order to hold hands with his companion made his cheeks flush slightly. 

"Ah, well, at least you'll feel better after a meal." Ingmar said as they crossed the street. 

The Captain took a breath, moving into step beside him as they walked into the restaurant. 

It wasn't too busy, and Ingmar seemed happy as he eyed the buffet, finding it to his liking. As they sat down, he took off his jacket, revealing a pink Kirby shirt that was altogether far too small for him, his extremely muscular arms nearly splitting the sleeves. The Captain blinked, gesturing to the shirt, not at all sure how to feel about it. 

Ingmar looked at it. “Oh, yeah. It's a good game.”

The Captain smiled and glanced away. “I'm sure.” The more he found out about this man, the more he appreciated his presence. 

“Come on, I'll let you go first. You'll want to fill your plate before I do.” Ingmar almost carried him toward the food, large hands ushering him. 

The Captain took a plate and looked at the heat lamp dried foods, most of them looking really bad. But he managed to fill his plate up with various things, not sure if he'd eat them all. 

Ingmar held two plates on his arm, both of them teetering with mountains of food, and he kept trying to pile it on. “I like this buffet. Mostly because I've been barred from the other one.”

The Captain chuckled, his first real laugh around Ingmar. “Really? How did you manage to get barred?” 

They went back to their table and Ingmar set down his plates, sitting with a smile. “They say ‘all you can eat’, but they never mean it.”

Digging into his food, The Captain shrugged. “I suppose you have quite the appetite.”

Ingmar nodded. "I'm always hungry. My friends call me to eat their leftovers." He took a big bite of a stale slice of pizza. "Margot hates it when I eat mouldy stuff though." He smiled sweetly, the pizza gone in another bite. 

“Not to criticise your restaurant choice but this food is terrible.” The Captain mumbled, pulling a rock hard noodle from his mouth with a frown. “Next time we should--” He paused and looked up at Ingmar with slight horror, blinking. Oh, dear. 

Ingmar grinned with a strange half smile, eyebrow raised. “Who says there's gonna be a next time?” He asked with a teasing purr. 

“I'm sorry.” Lord, what an idiot, he'd really put his foot in it this time. “I just thought--”

“You thought right.” Ingmar smirked, setting aside his first plate and pulling his second toward himself. “Where should we go next?” 

The Captain felt a flood of relief and nearly dropped out of his chair, a shaky breath leaving his lips. “I don't know… I mean… I don't know many nice restaurants. I don't frequent many.”

Ingmar shrugged. “How about my place? I can cook.” 

That gave The Captain a lot to think about. First, there was the risk that Ingmar was a crazed killer, and that he was going to lure him into his house and snap his spine with his huge, powerful, shapely hands. Not the worst outcome. Then there was the chance that this would be a date that would end in sex. The Captain hadn't so much as kissed anyone for years, let alone been that intimate.

He must have looked perplexed as he felt something large and warm wrap around his hand, looking to see Ingmar holding it. Like this, the size difference was so easy to compare, and The Captain felt awfully small. 

“It's just dinner.” Ingmar assured him, ice blue eyes full of sincerity. “Nice lasagne? And more ice cream than should be legal?” 

The Captain found a small shard of bone between his teeth and he spat it onto the plate with a grimace, nodding. “Anything is better than this.”

Ingmar nodded, but finished his food anyway, standing and walking over to the desserts. He managed to find the freshest slices of cake and brought them over, setting one in front of The Captain. It wasn’t that nice but he picked at it anyway, watching as Ingmar swallowed it in two bites, impressed by his appetite.   
“Still hungry.” Ingmar rumbled, sitting back and rubbing his belly. “But I always am.” 

The Captain giggled. “I’m stuffed. Your stomach must be huge.”

Shrugging, Ingmar nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I have a problem with my pituitary gland, well, _had_. Got it fixed, but I grew quite a bit before then.”

“More than quite a bit.” The Captain smirked, eyes lingering on Ingmar's shapely form, pushing aside the guilt settling in his stomach.

Ingmar chuckled, that lovely baritone that shook The Captain's chest cavity. It felt like a dream, how his palm graced his, the gentle tug as they moved to leave. The swift batting away of offers to pay. Ingmar covered it, and they both stepped out into the rain. The Captain shuddered with pure delight as he felt the weight of a tent-sized leather jacket around his shoulders. 

The walk back to The Captain's house was nice, both of them settling into a comfortable silence after a few moments of chatting. Ingmar's presence was comforting, akin to being escorted by a very large dog. 

Once back outside The Captain’s house, he looked up at Ingmar with a small smile. "This was very nice. Aside from the food." The corners of his eyes creased with amusement.  
The Captain startled, suddenly finding a warm hand cupped around his cheek, the larger man’s eyes heavy lidded. Oh, good lord… 

“I'm glad we were together. Even if we did get food poisoning.” Ingmar chuckled slightly and leant forward, if only a little, watching The Captain to gauge his reaction. The Captain paused, struggling with his need for human interaction and his reluctance to get too intimate with someone else. He glanced at the lips he'd fantasised about for so long, his hand moving of its own accord to rest on Ingmar's face. His hair tickled his palm as he nuzzled into his hand, his face split with a smile as he rubbed his thumb in circles over The Captain's cheekbone. 

"I've never…I mean…" The Captain whispered, wanting to look away but unable to, those eyes so captivating, like being lost in a snowstorm, like finding your way home again. "...I've never kissed a man before."

Ingmar's other hand was gentle on his hip, as though a single movement could shake it loose, the touch more tender than he deserved, yet not nearly as rough as he desired. "I don't mind if you want to practise a little…"

The Captain bit his lip, smiling. "Are you always so smooth?" He asked, a single step bringing him close enough to feel Ingmar's hot breath on his face. 

"Only with you." Ingmar closed the gap between them, head tilting to compensate for his nose. The pause was painful, and The Captain didn't know if Ingmar was waiting for him or not, his fingers tangling in his beard. With a small smile, Ingmar closed the last inch, and the world completely disappeared. The Captain felt as though he were suspended, the soft lips hugging his own with a gentleness that he didn't expect, encompassing him in a feeling he couldn't describe. He could hear his heart in his head as a soft hum from Ingmar made his chest ache, and he wished he could stay there forever, drinking him in like a three week parched man in the searing desert. He was the cool respite from the beating sun, and his sheltering shadow was where he belonged. 

The noise they made when they broke apart was soft, but perfect, and The Captain felt euphoria singing in his veins as he looked up at Ingmar with wide eyes. The taller man dropped a large hand on his head and scruffed up his hair, a deep chuckle making his ears tickle. 

"I'll call you." He said simply, the little smirk on his face making The Captain's heart swell. "Have a nice night."

"You too." The Captain choked out, throat tight as he watched Ingmar swagger down the road until he was out of sight. His heart was in his throat, hands shaking so much he could barely unlock his front door. As soon as he was safe in the confines of his home, he let a mad, excited giggle free for just a moment, before coughing and regaining his composure.   
One thing was for sure though. Ingmar was a very good kisser.

**Author's Note:**

> Ingmar's band sounds a lil like this:
> 
> https://youtu.be/JFYVcz7h3o0


End file.
